


Undeniable Sin Behind Those Eyes

by EvilPeaches



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bickering, Biting, Blood and Violence, Claiming, Doggy Style, Dominance, Explicit Language, F/M, Family Issues, Incest, Internal Conflict, Light Angst, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Post-DMC5, Power Bottom, Power Dynamics, Power Struggle, Rough Sex, Scenting, Sexual Tension, Shame, Slice of Life, territorial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-11 06:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilPeaches/pseuds/EvilPeaches
Summary: Dante comes back from the Underworld, though he doesn't come home alone. The ramifications of that fact aresuffocating.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters or DMC.

The night he returns from the Underworld, the air changes. Something in reality shifts, fractures. It’s something that’s felt in the gut, an inkling of something amiss. She walks outside of _Devil May Cry_, fingers twitching for her guns until she sees a familiar silhouette in the moonlight. Lady exhales, feels her heart pause, can nearly taste emotion crawling up her esophagus.

“You’re back,” she breathes, tries to not sound too foolish, too happy to see him again.

He steps closer, so close that she can see his eyes, now a little more grey than the brilliant blue they had been when he was young. His eyes, they always look like the sky before a storm now. He looks tired. Perhaps years had passed while he was in the Underworld, but what does she know? She’s happy he’s not dead.

She reaches a hand out, just to be sure, touches his hand softly. He entraps her slim hand in his larger one, warm and alive. Her chest tightens painfully and tears prick at her eyes, so she blinks it all away, refuses to get all emotional about it.

If he senses how she feels in this moment, seeing him back alive, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he tightens his grip on her hand. She laughs as he pulls on her, twirls her past him. There’s a smile in his voice as he says, “Thought I was dead, huh, Lady? Give me some credit, old girl.”

Lady opens her mouth to reply as the twirl begins to slow, but something else catches her eye.

She nearly stumbles, feet catching on the sidewalk.

There, waiting twenty-some feet behind Dante, stands his brother. Pale and haunting in the light of the moon, striking, looking like a dream.

Only, Vergil isn’t a dream. He’s a monster.

Lady’s never viewed him as human, not even an ounce. He’s always been the demon from the highest reach of the Temen Ni Gru, the predator with only animal cunning and cruelty born of the Underworld. He’s looking at her now, expression blank.

Usually his face is tainted by distaste, disgust. So unlike Dante in many ways. She could never mistake one for the other.

Being in his presence makes her feel ill, like she’s touched something filthy. “You brought him with…” she utters, so quiet that she almost doesn’t hear herself.

Dante hears her. As does Vergil, no doubt. Their hearing far exceeds her own capabilities.

With a sigh, Dante tugs her hand gently towards _Devil May Cry_. “Well, someone has to keep an eye on him; look what he got up to after all these years alone.”

As they walk towards the building, Lady glances over her shoulder, wary of having an old enemy at her back, unchecked. Vergil is still standing there, still as stone, but with eyes that accuse her of doing something wrong.

_Fucking demon, _Lady thinks, tightening her grip on Dante’s hand, just to see a flicker of flame flash in Vergil’s eyes. _He’ll never change. _

Things nearly go back to how they once were.

Nearly.

Lady asks Trish about it one day while they’re at the gun range, because Nero is too innocent and thick in the head to be aware of any of it for proper discussion. Well, that and there are a few other sensibilities to keep in mind when discussing a hothead’s Uncle and Father.

“Is it just me or are they circling each other like a pair of rabid dogs?”

Trish shrugs, applies some lipstick. Tosses her long hair over her shoulder, her leather creaking. “I’m not worried about it. They’re trying to adjust to living together in the same place. Two adult demon males in one building? Yikes. It’s probably a huge drama of, ‘who does this couch belong to?’ or ‘which side of the house has been claimed?’ and ‘where are our boundaries?’. It’s more of a Vergil thing, though. He’s more demon than man, where Dante has always repressed that side of himself. Poor Dante is just coping with it.”

Unfortunately, it makes sense.

“Why isn’t Nero part of any of it?”

Trish smiles. “He’s not even part of their equation. Too young, doesn’t command enough authority. Though, I have seen Vergil go off at him a few times.” She hisses like a cat and curls one of her hands into a claw.

“Have you really? I rarely see him take notice of Nero. He treats him like he’s part of the scenery.”

“Oh, he takes notice if Nero sits on Dante’s lazy boy or Dante’s couch. Drives him nuts,” Trish says with a cackle.

Lady frowns. “…And that’s funny, why?”

“Well,” Trish says thoughtfully, “I guess it’s funny because he takes offense to Nero placing a claim on Dante’s stuff. Not that Nero thinks it’s territorial at all, poor kid just thinks he’s sitting down, but Vergil thinks it’s an affront to his brother’s dominancy. Especially since Dante doesn’t give a shit one way or another!”

Loading her gun, adjusting her ear protection, Lady aims down the sights and shoots at the target. Bullseye. “What if it isn’t that at all?”

Lipstick in place, Trish lounges on a chair, idly watching Lady reload. “I mean, I’m not ruling out possessiveness. Or the things that Dante has been studiously ignoring.”

She doesn’t need to elaborate on what those other things might be. Revulsion twists in Lady’s stomach at the thought, but she reminds herself that Dante isn't human. Or at least, not entirely.

“Well, whatever he’s ignoring, Dante’s driving me up the wall,” Lady snaps.

“Okay, so how about you stop complaining and we do something about it?”

To that end, they form a plan.

And it’s a damn good one, to hear Trish tell it. 

Dante’s leaning against the door frame, watching Lady pass him by with a large duffle bag and a few guns. “We going somewhere, Lady?”

She snorts, throws the baggage into Nico’s van unceremoniously. “We? Yes. But, you? No.”

He crosses his arms across his chest, looking vaguely unamused. Possibly offended. He tilts his head a bit, shifting hair out of his eyes, gesturing with one of his hands. “Uh, what gives? Girls weekend or something? Something frilly or some shit?”

Lady smiles her knowing smile, eyes laughing. “Just a job. Don’t worry though, it isn’t big enough for your ego anyway.”

“How is it that _Devil May Cry_ is my business and I haven’t even heard about this job?” Dante follows tight on Lady’s heels as she throws her bag into Nico’s van.

Lady looks at him over her shoulder, smiles softly. “Need to know basis, Dante. We’re taking Nero.”

He frowns at her and Lady gently scratches the scruff growing on his chin with fondness. Dante’s eyes are sharp as he stares down at her, voice falsely cheerful. “Good for Nero; he likes to feel special. What does that load of steaming crap have to do with me not being invited on this boondoggle?”

He’s fuming, but underneath Lady can see he is desperate to get out of headquarters. The weeks after the defeat of Urizen had been tough, Nero distinctly saddened by the loss of both his father and uncle in one fell swoop. The boy had never thought he had family and Lady had glimpsed how it made him feel to know that he _belonged_. Despite the whole rebel attitude, the young man had a bit of sensitivity in there, hidden under the feisty grit.

He reminds Lady of Dante, in that way. Feisty and temperamental with a soft underbelly. 

Months had passed during that fretful time and Trish and Lady had basically taken over the handling of headquarters with Morrison. Until the day that Dante returned.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t come home alone.

Therein lies the problem and Lady sees it plain as day. She and Trish have watched the game of cat and mouse play out through the whole building and to be honest, they are completely sick of it.

With a feigned look of pain, Lady says, “Redundancy, Dante. Redundancy.”

“I am not redundant!” Dante snaps, incredulous. Indignant per the usual. Hot-headed to a fault. “You’re redundant.”

Trish sashays by with her own duffle bag, perfume floating by in her wake. She points to herself and then Lady with attitude. “Hey, don’t be that way, Dante. I’m all hot style while Lady is the big guns. You and Nero…you’re both sort of the hack and slash types and we don’t need both of you for a small demon nest. Take a break, you and Vergil are just back from the underworld after all.”

Cocking his hip to the side, Dante rolls his eyes, hides how uncomfortable those words make him. “Are you saying I’m an old man?”

Trish puts sunglasses over her eyes as she grins slowly. “I said no such thing.”

Lady leans against the van and nods her head. “I am.”

Dante points between the two of them. “This. This is bullshit. I’m firing you both.”

Both women laugh uproariously at him. They know he will do no such thing. In this, he’s all bark and no bite.

“Laugh it up while you can, hot babes,” Dante growls as he storms back into _Devil May Cry_.

On his way inside, he spots Nero hovering in the interior, looking vaguely like a deer caught in headlights. His nephew’s greenish-blue eyes hold an embarrassed tint to them, though his lips are set in their typical firm line. He’s too serious for such a young man. At his age, Dante was all shits and giggles. Gah, the kid can be such a stiff. Like Vergil.

Trying to diffuse the awkwardness and the fact that he’s slightly hurt about being passed over for a job (for his deadweight nephew no less), Dante pastes a smirk on his lips and says, “So. You’ve made it to the big leagues now, kid. The ladies all want you for a hunt. Good luck. Don’t let the babes eat you. Have a blast.”

A slight expression of dismay flashes across Nero’s face, there for a second and gone in the next. Hidden. “Hey, wait old man. I would rather go wi-”

“I’m not your old man, short stuff.”

“Dante!”

Dante waves Nero off and walks up the winding staircase, heading towards his rooms. Fine. If the crew wants to go out and have a hunt to themselves, cool, Dante can deal. He can order in a pizza, a few cases of beer. Shit. He can have his own party with or without them all.

As he walks through the halls upstairs, he feels a pair of eyes crawling up his back. Dante pauses in his stride for only a second before moving forward. His brother is eyeballing him, from somewhere. No doubt sneering that Dante has been passed over for a younger model.

_His_ younger model, to be exact.

When Dante gets to his room, he pauses with his hand on the doorknob and turns around to look behind him. Sure enough, he catches sight of his brother sitting in an alcove with a book. Though Vergil portrays the epitome of disinterest, he is anything but, his aura alert, biting. His pale hair, always in perfect place, looks soft in the light and his eyes hold a weight to them that Dante distinctly feels.

Dante presses his lips together, keeps his thoughts blank and off his face. Pretends he can’t smell Vergil’s demon, just under his flesh, waiting, wrathful. Pretends he doesn’t feel like tearing his own flesh off in the wake of the untamable wildness inside of him.

Vergil’s icy gaze pierces him, almost a statement, until his eyes flicker back down to the book in hand. Forgetting all about Dante in the process. Writing him off. His giveaway is the slight flare of his nostrils, the inhale that can’t be missed. The way he brushes his aura against Dante's in carefully placed acknowledgement, possessive, stifling. 

With a shake of his head, Dante rolls his eyes and steps into his room, slamming the door behind him.

And even there, he can feel his brother through the door, like a burning brand that just won’t stop aching.

The first night alone in the building is stifling.

It isn’t like they haven’t been alone before. They have. It’s just that this time, they’re in Dante’s home and no one is coming back to save them from each other for days. Usually, there is always a flurry of action, people coming and going.

It’s never vacant.

They have nothing to talk about. Every time they speak, they end up disagreeing, which only leads to violence. Dante’s getting too old and tired of it all. He orders in a pizza and remains in his room, alone. Always aware of Vergil, his scent thick in the building now.

He doesn’t regret bringing Vergil home with him, despite what most people may think. Dante prefers being able to know where his brother is and what he’s up to. History knows that Vergil always gets up to wickedness when truly left to his own devices.

It’s just hard, living with him again. So many things have changed over the decades apart. They last lived together as boys, well before their true nature really settled in. Dante lived as a human for many years and Vergil…well Vergil _didn’t_. Now that they’ve fully matured, the differences are startling, living in the same building.

While Nero smells like a half-blood with a substantial amount of power, he doesn’t quite have the same pull that Vergil does in regards to commanding respect. Therefore, Dante’s more bestial nature views Nero with grudging fondness, rather than a competitor. On top of that, his human nature has always found Nero to be a true joy, a right laugh. Nero reminds Dante of a cat that’s gotten soaked in water, puffing up to look tough and hissing at everything.

Or in other words, Nero is more amusing than he is terrifying.

Vergil, on the other hand, goes around laying his scent across the building like he’s trying to lay claim to everything and everyone. The very idea of it sets Dante’s teeth on edge, because his darker nature doesn’t like being treated as a minion. Or a possession.

However, Dante’s human nature couldn’t give any fewer fucks about the whole situation. Let Vergil tie himself in knots trying to satiate his demonic needs. Let him think he owns the damn building. The only thing Dante can’t abide is how Vergil likes to play at owning _him_.

The very idea of it fills Dante with razorblades, his stomach turning over. He’s too human, always has been and his brother has always been too busy trying to prove that Vergil's _anything but_.

In the Underworld, they had been focused on keeping themselves alive against hordes of demon scum. They’d had fun, actually, teaming up to crush the opposition. They’d even had a few scoring competitions, seeing who could slay the most. Then, they moved on to sparring each other, no longer playing with pretenses of trying to murder the other.

Nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, in the Underworld. Vergil had seemed happier there, in his typical territory.

But now…here…and alone. Dante inhales deeply. The scent in the building has already gotten thicker without other people coming and going. Nero’s faint, non-aggressive scent has already nearly faded to nothing. The wildness inside of him snarls at the overwhelming aroma of a strong competitor in the vicinity, but the human side of him is weaker, wants to rest his forehead on his brother’s shoulder and _just be_.

As it stands, Vergil remains in the room he’s commandeered. Silent, probably scheming or brooding. Who knows, who fucking cares. It grates on Dante’s nerves that Vergil does little with Nero, aside from insulting him and working the poor boy up. He’s got so much demon in him that he has very little care for human sensibilities (aka, tearing your son’s arm off is a no).

Vergil’s focus, obsession, has always been to have more power. Power and control. Vergil has always been so blindsided by his need to be more powerful than Dante, that he’s barely noticed how his focus has turned to wanting to _control _Dante.

The night passes slowly and Dante tries his best to not think of his brother.

In the morning, Dante goes down to the kitchen to find some soda to drink, only to find his brother already lounging in the sun, drinking coffee elegantly. He’s looking out the window, though Dante can feel his brother’s awareness shift to him. Those cruel lips curl into a slight smirk as Vergil breathes out, still gazing into the distance, “A little old to be getting up this late, aren’t you, little brother?”

Scowling, Dante goes to the fridge and looks around inside for a pepsi. “I like to think my age gives me the right to get up late, actually.”

Scoffing, Vergil gives Dante a glance, muttering, “Child.”

Irritation, fueled by lack of caffeine, boils up inside of Dante. Not only is his brother sitting here, insulting Dante like he owns the kitchen, but on top of that Dante can feel the way that Vergil is throwing his power out, like a scourge.

Something snaps inside of Dante, wicked and fiery.

In a moment of futility, Dante reaches forward and slaps the coffee cup out of his brothers’ hand. They both watch as the cup sails through the air before landing with a loud crash, porcelain scattering across the floor.

Vergil turns his head to stare at Dante and those pale eyes flash menacingly. It’s the only warning Dante gets.

Pain explodes across Dante’s back as he’s slammed through the kitchen wall. The dry wall crumbles in a heinous mess, insulation falling in fluffs onto the two brothers as they struggle on the floor in the next room. “Who is going to fix that?!” Dante snarls, mentally calculating the cost of fixing his kitchen wall.

An angry tiger is on his chest, holding him down with blazing eyes. “You never change,” Vergil murmurs lowly, ugly in his tone.

“Oh, yeah? Who wins the fucking prize, because neither do you,” Dante snaps back.

He holds his brother’s gaze, momentarily allowing himself to be carried away in the icy wasteland that rests there in those eyes. The heat of Vergil’s body is real, dangerous. For years and years Dante had been sure his brother was gone. Dead.

He had been sure that Nero was all that remained, a poor reflection of the real thing.

Heated breath caresses Dante’s faces as Vergil speaks. “I think we’re beyond playing games, Dante. There is no prize, there never has been. You’re still trapped in your futile human thoughts when you could be so much more.”

Ah, so they’re back to this again. The same issue, same story, just another fuckin’ day.

The darkness inside of Dante wants to fight, wants to crush Vergil to him, bite him, show him who is king. Hold him down and descend into filthy madness until there is no telling the difference between the pair of them.

But. Dante still has some sanity, even if his demon does not. “Get off of me, Vergil.”

Vergil bares his teeth, longer canines glittering dangerously. Instead of moving away, he cranes his neck down slowly, inhaling deeply, aggressive. Scenting. He hisses lowly in Dante’s ear, hands tightening like iron bars around Dante’s wrists. “This foolishness is unbecoming of you.” One of those strong hands tangles in Dante’s bed-messed hair, pulling on it roughly, possessively. To his horror, Dante can’t stop the whine that comes out of his throat. He can feel the way that Vergil’s breath stutters at the sound, his body stiffening.

Then, horrifyingly, Vergil sags into Dante. Not an aggressive pinning, but almost a relaxing move, his body draped over Dante’s. The hand in Dante’s hair relaxes, yet pulls Dante closer, Vergil’s nose tracing the line of Dante’s jugular. There’s no hiding the way Dante’s heart pounds, the way his blood sings and calls for his other half.

His flesh heats, shivers running down his spine at the sensation of his brother scenting his flesh gently, the sounds Vergil makes as he does so.

Then, Vergil presses his teeth to the skin of Dante’s neck and he rasps, “…brother…”

It’s like cold water falling in a wave over Dante. He shudders and pushes Vergil away, fighting the part of him that purrs and snarls in equal turns beside his twin. He can’t give into this, the wrongness of it all, even though he wants to.

Oh, dammit he wants to desperately, his groin twisting with heat and a horde of sinful things that Dante shouldn’t want or need. He needs to get away, his brother’s demon calling him back, wanting him to submit, the pull hard behind his gut. Fuck, Dante's disgusting for even thinking about it. 

“Oh, yes, run away, little brother. You know how that thrills me,” Vergil sneers from somewhere behind him.

Whirling on his heels, Dante yells, “I should have never brought you back!”

White teeth flash as Vergil’s eyes narrow viciously. In that raspy growl of his, the kind Dante only hears during a fight, Vergil says, “Then _why did you_?”

Dante doesn’t feel like answering. He can’t. He snarls furiously and storms off, wanting to pretend he doesn't want what he wants. 

Nico hits another bump in the road, jolting all the inhabitants in her van. Lady huffs in annoyance and Nero chews the wild driver out. “Is this a game? Gotta hit them all?! Twenty bucks on each pot hole? Shit.”

“Aww, shut yer trap and quit the bellyaching. It ain’t that bad,” Nico says cheerily.

They take a break at a rest stop and Nero steals the few moments he has to call Kyrie. He waits as the phone rings, eagerly listening to the sound of her gentle voice. When she picks up the line, everything in him calms, all the roiling chaos that comes before a hunt.

“Is everything alright?” She asks, perhaps surprised to hear from him so soon. It’s only been a day of travel so far, after all.

He scratches the back of his neck and gives a short laugh. “I missed the sound of your voice.”

“Nero…”

“Well, I’m serious. I’m stuck with these godawful harpies. I just want to be home with you,” he finishes, feeling a little foolish.

“Be nice to them,” Kyrie says lightly, a slight sound of utensils clanging in the background. She must be cooking. “And take care of them. Especially if it’s a dangerous mission.”

_Take care of them…? These women are savages, not butterflies. _Typical Kyrie. “Well, who is going to take care of me?”

A light laugh sounds through the phone, like a gentle bell. “I have full faith in you, Nero. And when you get home…we can…you know…”

He grins widely. Nico walks by with a new pack of cigarettes in hand. She smirks at him when she sees the look on his face. “Ohhhh booooyyy. Are you phone-sexing? In public? You nast!”

Covering the mouthpiece with his hand, Nero hisses at her, “Shut up!”

Nico cackles, walking towards the curb for another smoke. He can smell the cigarettes clinging to her, his senses heightened now by his demon side. The breeze carries her scent to him and that is extremely annoying. Why is he stuck on this mission with all these bizarre chicks when he could have done it with Dante alone?

His thoughts briefly land on Dante and wonders how he’s doing, left alone with…Nero’s…with that other asshole.

“You still there?” Kyrie inquires gently.

“Ah, yeah, babe. I’m sorry. Nico was being a-. Well. She was being annoying.”

“I see.”

He sighs, leans against the side of the building. “I would have rather gone with Dante. I prefer working with him. Even if he’s a big douchebag.”

“He’s fond of you,” Kyrie replies. “Even if you don’t think he is. And, he believes in you, just as I do. That has to count for something.”

“I suppose it does,” Nero mutters, not choosing to dwell on his pale haired uncle further.

“I have to go, Nero. I love you,” Kyrie whispers.

“And I you,” he replies softly, hanging up, feeling his heart ache.

He glances back at the van with a sigh. Well. Back to the estrogen filled environment with a lot of foul-mouthed women. Swell.

But, there’s a job to do and he’ll get it done. He’ll do Dante proud, even if Dante seemed a little miffed about being left behind. Putting on his game face, Nero struts back to the van with more pep, dedicating himself to the mission.

He won’t let himself go negative on this, even if he misses Kyrie and the company is _completely_ lacking.

Lady is already back in the van, fiddling with the jukebox. She’s a beautiful woman and her exotic eyes have a fierceness that seems to see right through Nero. She catches his eye and smiles at him slowly, “Miss your girlfriend already? We’ll have you back in one piece, don’t worry.”

Nero kicks back on the couch, puts his feet up effortlessly. He sighs, crossing his arms behind his head, a motion that reminds Lady of Dante with painful clarity. It’s like watching a younger version of Dante, back in the days of the Temen Ni Gru.

“How about_ I’ll_ get you ladies back to Dante in one piece?” Nero counters, disliking how she always seems to see him as a child.

She clicks one of the buttons on the jukebox and music fills the air softly. It’s something sad, low, and tragic. It isn’t something Nero would have picked. For a moment, Lady seems far away, listening to the song, but then she looks back at him and shrugs. “I’m sure Dante is more worried about you than Trish and I. You’re like his baby. It’s _too precious_.”

Brow furrowing, Nero scoffs. “Don’t give me that mental image. I already have one father and let’s be real, that one tore my arm off.”

Her lips twist darkly at the mention of Vergil. “He doesn’t count. Dante cares for you. It’s not a bad thing to have someone who cares for you. I never had that. Not really, anyway.”

The song filling the van turns darker and Nero realizes he doesn’t know Lady at all. There’s something in her eyes, something like a gaping hole in her heart. It makes Nero distinctly uncomfortable and he changes the subject quickly as Trish and Nico enter the van.

“So. How big is this demon nest? I’m ready to squash some fucking bugs,” he says, overconfident young man bravado clear in his tone.

Nico lets out a snort up front. She figures he’s eager to get this done and over with so he can get home to his ball and chain. It’s cute, but gaggingly so.

Trish twirls a long strand of her hair around her finger as she looks at him with appraising eyes. Lady wonders if Trish sees the same pieces of Dante in Nero as Lady does…or perhaps Trish only sees Vergil. “What demon nest?” Trish says lowly, her voice smoky.

_Uh, what? Excuse me? _Nero thinks, all other thoughts coming to an abrupt halt.

Nero sits up instantly, his boots thunking on the floor. There’s a click of a lighter as Nico puts a cigarette in her mouth. “What do you mean, ‘what demon nest’? The one for this job.” Nero scowls up towards the front of the van. “Dammit, Nico open a God-damn window! You know I hate the smell of that shit!”

“Bitch,” Nico says offhandedly, chewing around the end in her mouth. “You’re such a pussy.”

Lady sits down to inspect her guns, giving Trish a falsely puzzled look. “You heard of this job, Trish?”

Playing the game to the end, Trish replies, “Not at all. Nero, baby, is your brain all scrambled from being clobbered all the time?”

Growling, Nero stands up and glowers down at all of the women surrounding him. He could have been home with Kyrie and yet, he’s here, with these foul hags. “This isn’t a joke! I didn’t come along for a freaking joy ride with Nico in this awful, stinking van. I came along for the hunt! Stop screwing around with me.”

“Heyyy now. Don’t be talking no smack about my baby,” Nico snaps from the front. “My van is a damn glory!”

It’s Lady who takes some pity on him, knowing how worked up he gets. So like his Uncle. “No, literally, this job is completely bogus. We had to get outta there.”

“Amen to that,” Trish mutters, uncorking a bottle of wine from her bag. Nero stares; why the hell did she bring that? Trish takes a swig from it. “I was suffocating under all that tension. Does it never get resolved? It’s only been, oh, a few _decades_.”

What are these broads on about? Nero stares them down, hands open in irritation. “Get out of where? What tension?”

Lady cackles, mismatched eyes alight with mirth. She continues talking to Trish like he never spoke. “Did you see Dante trying to get in on this job? He wanted to come with _so_ bad. Poor baby, trying to escape Brother Dearest. I almost felt bad for him.”

“What are you crazy old hags talking about?!” Nero snaps, pale eyes flashing.

It’s almost surreal, seeing him get fired up. So young, so thick-skulled. Lady can’t recall if Dante had been that stupid as a younger man, but Vergil certainly hadn’t been. He’d always been all cunning and cold wrath.

Lady and Trish share a knowing look. “Oh, you know. Dante and Vergil needed some time alone. Straighten themselves out. A few days will do them good.”

The younger man looks confused, a scowl twisting his lips profusely. “Are you telling me we came all the way out here because those two need to talk things out? They were trapped, together, _in the Underworld_. For a long time. Pretty sure they are sick of being around each other.”

“Ah,” Trish looks up at the ceiling. “Talking is nice and all, but I think they accomplish more by _doing_.”

For a moment, Nero pauses, thoughts coming to a halt. He tries examining everything he knows about Dante, the interactions he’s seen with his…with Vergil. It’s hard to view the man as his father, that chill front so different from Nero inherently. Dante though; deep down, Nero had sort of hoped that Dante was his father. He’d looked up to him, viewed him as a mentor.

Well. A boozing, lady killin’ mentor, but a mentor none the less.

Dante becomes something different in Vergil’s presence though. It isn’t like Nero can’t see it. That devil may care attitude becomes stilted, becomes fiery. Anger and attitude hiding something that smells like hurt. And Vergil…don’t get him started on that guy. His sperm donor. Or whatever.

Vergil is evanescent. He never stays in view, always a ghost through a room. A ghost, but an elegant one. Always buried in a book. Always giving withering glances, disemboweling people with his words without cause. Those icy eyes belong on a hawk and those eyes fall on Dante like a brand. Nero’s stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought, suddenly realizes those looks aren’t.

They _aren’t._

The way they disagree, short and fast usually. Explosive on Dante’s end, disinterested on Vergil’s. How Vergil will leave the room, something in his face a blatant warning, a siren screaming, _don’t follow me, don’t follow me to finish this fight, you won’t like how this ends._

There’s always a stiffness in Dante’s muscles when that happens, like he’s fighting the urge to chase, jaw clenched. The air changes, a scent that Nero can’t quite identify. There’s anger, but there’s also something else.

What could they possibly accomplish by-

“Doing _what_?!” His voice cracks embarrassingly and Nico laughs around the cigarette in her mouth.

“I’m sure you can figure it out,” Trish says while Lady makes a foul gesture with her fingers.

Blue-green eyes blink and red grows on Nero’s cheekbones. He splutters. “You women…are sick! You realize this is my family you’re talking about?” He glowers at the lot of them, through the haze of Nico’s cigarette smoke as it flutters through the van. He coughs, waving his hand back and forth.

Trish and Lady share a knowing look and laugh. Trish tosses her long blonde hair flirtatiously, giving Nero a look from under lowered lashes. “Sweetheart, we’ve known Dante a long time. I think we know what we’re talking about here.”

Leaning back in her chair, Lady idly comments to Trish. “Poor Dante. It must be hard with Vergil back. Goes from being top dog to being bottom to that ice queen.”

Looking ill, Nero covers his ears. “Oh, just stop. I don’t want to hear this! You’re all making this up, they hate each other! I had to stop them from killing each other, remember?”

“Oh, that? They wouldn’t have done it. They’ve been stabbing each other for years, it gets old. Brotherly love and all.” Trish breaks into a cackle at that.

“Yeah. They’ve been there, done that,” Lady adds with boredom. “I’ve seen it with my own two eyes.”

Trish squints at him, leaning forward with a confused look on her face. “I know you’re new to this demon stuff and all, but you really haven’t noticed it? There’s a demonic hierarchy in the building, now that Vergil’s back. Dante’s been trying to not engage with the whole situation, but it’s only making things worse. They’re struggling for dominance, the two of them. Seeing who is boss.”

“Oh, yeah? Where am I in all this?”

Trish points one finger at the floor. “At the bottom, of course. Like, dead bottom.”

This is unbelievable.

“Alright. Let me get this straight then. We’re staying here for a few days? Just, sitting in this van?” Nero hopes the answer is no. “There’s no hunt at all?”

Lady nods sagely. “That’s exactly the plan. We can hit a few casinos, bars, what have you. But we aren’t going back for another two days at least.”

Nero groans miserably. Great. Just wonderful. “I hate you all.”

“Love you, bitch,” Nico says up front.

“Do you want to spar?”

Dante looks up from his accounting book. He’s terrible with the numbers and is almost glad that his brother has seen fit to interrupt him. “What kind of question is that?”

“Yes or no, little brother. Give me big boy words,” Vergil says sarcastically, circling behind him like a panther.

Slamming the book shut, Dante grins at Vergil widely. “You’re always due for an ass-kicking.”

They go to a vacant location together, away from prying eyes, away from any buildings that can easily be destroyed in the scuffle. They start with good intentions, or as good as their intentions can ever be. They start with weapons, flashes of steel in the wind.

Frustration sings between them, though Dante doesn’t want to acknowledge the source of the frustration. He feels like he’s delaying the inevitable, that his brother’s desire to assert his dominance is growing with every day. In fact, the issue has been growing more suffocating with every day since they came back together. He should have known that two adult demons would have trouble living together in harmony. He just figured it would be different because Vergil is family, but alas. It appears not. They are both simply too alpha. 

The posturing will never end until they fucking have it out.

Eventually, they move beyond weapons and resort to fists and claws, tearing into each other with viciousness. The incessant sensation of never being satisfied. The feeling that something is missing, just out of reach.

“Your power is stagnating since our time in the Underworld, little brother,” Vergil taunts, an ugly expression on his face.

“Dream some more, Verge. I just see no point wasting all my power on you,” Dante snarks back.

They come together in a rush of power, breaking the sound barrier as they do so. All fangs and fury. It’s true; Dante is not giving it all he’s got, doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want his brother to goad him into a true territorial fight.

That would be admitting that Dante is truly demon through and through, like his brother. He wants to retain some form of humanity, despite the urgings of the darkness inside himself. The urgings that show him visions of sin and darkness, two bodies becoming one. Blood and cum mixing together, the taste of flesh on his tongue. His brother taking him, yet submitting to Dante's power, the way their demons would be satisfied with the violence of their embrace. Wanting to know what Vergil sounds like when he reaches his pleasure, smug words lost in his need, cruel lips open wide and panting. 

Dante closes his eyes, tries to hide his thoughts from Vergil, though he knows his brother must be able to scent his shameful arousal on the wind. 

Locked together by their claws, Vergil inhales sharply, leaning closer to Dante’s neck. “You’re lying to yourself. Your demon wants us to find out once and for all who is in charge. I can smell it. Your demon wants to mark me as yours, just as mine wants you for its own.”

His tongue runs up Dante’s neck and Dante can barely hide the way his cock fills with heat at the sensation.

In rush of emotion, of shock, Dante steps away, eyes wide. “No,” he says, voice rough.

His brother looks unamused, eyes dilated, only adding more allure to his striking visage. “Suit yourself,” he sneers, upper lip curling over his teeth. “But what I want is not unnatural.”

Dante can smell what his brother wants, the scent heavy with lust and aggression. It's so strong that Dante nearly feels drunk on it, dizzy.

His stomach twists with a mix of disgust, shame, and desire. “It is to me, Vergil.”

Sensing Dante’s moment of weakness, Vergil steps forward and grabs him by the throat, pressing his teeth against Dante’s ear as he hisses aggressively, “I should have done it while we were in the Underworld. You wouldn’t have held on to these foolish human notions. You would have come willingly to me.”

“_Stop_, Vergil.”

“I would have fucked you open, fucked you until we couldn’t even tell where we began and where we ended. Because you’re already mine, you just won’t accept it.”

They stand there, panting, arousal filling the air. Against his own human nature, Dante finds himself growing harder with every word that Vergil speaks, feels his eyes dilating just as wide, a mirror of his sibling.

He can’t control the darkness inside of him as it howls for sex and blood. His demon is something he never lets out during sex; too dangerous, unpredictable. Dante never wanted to hurt his lovers, especially not his human ones, wanted to protect them from the monster inside.

And now…now his brother is trying to force it forward, to make him accept it as part of his daily life, not just power to use to protect humanity.

“What would our mother think?” Dante asks, tries to cool the conversation.

Vergil sneers, grip tightening on Dante. “She always knew what we were. You’re the one who seems to be confused. Come to me tonight. I’ll show you how we should be. I’ll take care of you, if you let your true nature out.”

His elegant brother presses his hips forward and Dante can feel the heaviness of his erection against his own wanting length. “Dante,” Vergil says darkly, dangerously, “I can please you in ways you’ve never dreamed.”

Heat is coursing through Dante’s body, violent and needy. Screaming for pleasure. Wanting to destroy, bite, and bleed. Wanting to claim his own territory, because Dante knows something that Vergil never wants to accept.

Dante is far more powerful, and though his nature is generally laid back, his demon has always come out on top.

He pushes his brother away with effort, a physical pain nearly. “Not happening, Vergil.”

The words are like razors in his throat, a lie to his own keen ears.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters or Devil May Cry.

Another day passes with measured slowness.

Dante answers the phone, munching on pizza and looking through a magazine with boredom. Secretly, he hopes Lady calls and begs him to come help on the job. Wouldn’t that be sweet vengeance, huh? He opens his titty mag sideways and hums a bit, tilting his head when his dickweed brother saunters by.

“What are you doing?” Ah, that voice. Like a cheese grater on the fine skin of Dante’s ass.

Dante waves the mag at Vergil. “Look at these, man. Nice.”

Vergil rolls his eyes dramatically.

“Aw, come on. You have to appreciate it a little. I mean, otherwise how did an ice pick like you manage it all in the first place?” Dante teases with an edge.

It’s one of those things. Nero being Vergil’s son and all.

Phasing out of existence in the blink of an eye, then back into form beside Dante, Vergil grabs the magazine from Dante’s hand and whispers into his ear lowly, “The usual way, I suppose.”

“Oh, you don’t say?” The heat of his breath is distracting.

“What do you want me to say, Dante?”

Scowling, Dante inches away from his brother’s face. Too close, too fucking close. The room is getting hot, suffocating. “Your son is off on a mission with a bunch of wildcats and you don’t even care that we got left behind!”

Those pale eyes seem to laugh darkly at Dante. Vergil sees Dante’s efforts to put distance between them. “He’s my son. He’s fully capable of taking care of himself. You were not needed, brother.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Dante looks out the window, gloomy. “I just can’t believe they didn’t want me to go on this hunt. What the hell.”

The look Vergil gives him is equal parts amused and condescending. “You’re an imbecile,” he drawls.

“How about you fuck off?” Dante snaps, flipping him the bird.

A slight flash of fang in a cruel grin and Vergil phases out of existence with Yamato, sneering, “Charming. Like an insipid troll.”

He’s awful, Dante muses. But at least Nero turned out alright, for a little bitch, anyway.

_They’ve got to be coming home soon. Someone has got to end my misery here, _Dante thinks, running a hand over his face with exhaustion.

The van smells a bad as can be expected.

Nico chainsmokes day in and day out, smoking it up even in the casinos they visit. Nero isn’t completely opposed to the casinos; at least they provide free alcohol while it looks like he’s gambling. He just sits next to Lady while she plays roulette, giving the illusion of considering joining in.

He’s lying on the floor of the van and the cheap carpet smells like something died and threw itself up. Someone nudges his foot gently. “Hey kid. You doin’ okay?” Lady.

“As good as can be expected after last night,” Nero mutters, closing his eyes tighter. Shit, he doesn’t want to see the carpet his face is resting on…maybe if he keeps sleeping it will all just go away.

He doesn’t even want to fathom telling Kyrie that there ended up being no hunt at all.

He doesn’t want to tell her that he’s been on a complete bender for the past few days and now he’s suffering for it. All because those twisted tricks Trish and Lady seem to have disgusting notions about his Uncle and F- Father.

Something cool and soothing rests against his aching head. Nero sighs and leans against it as Lady says softly, “Last day out, I promise we are going back soon, but in the mean time…”

Nero opens his eyes and sees that his cool salvation is another beer. He groans in dismay.

She winks at him, “Hair of the dog.” Lady is definitely Dante’s friend.

That night, darkness drifts into Dante’s room, power with it.

“Vergil,” he says blandly, irritated at the invasion of his privacy.

Dante has been leaning on the window sill, breathing in the soft night air. He doesn’t need to look behind himself to know that his brother has materialized on the bed, perched on the footboard like a gargoyle. Vergil’s voice is like night. “You’ve been avoiding me, brother.”

“I spoke with you this afternoon, what more do you want?” Dante refuses to look at him, staring up at the moon through the open window instead. “Do you need me to check in on you? How sweet.”

“If you think I haven’t noticed the way you dance around our current situation, you’re a fool,” Vergil says without inflection.

Well, shit. Of course Vergil knows. It isn’t a secret. It isn’t a complete secret that Dante’s demon has been dying to brawl, dying to sink its teeth into Vergil’s neck, to taste the copper of his blood on his tongue. It’s their nature.

Vergil has known for decades that this is the very nature that Dante has always denied, keeping it under control with a tight leash.

Taking in a deep breath, Dante tries to calm himself, feeling a storm brewing inside. Chaos, just under the surface of his flesh. “This would all go away if you would stop with the territory bullshit, Vergil. Throwing your aura all over my fucking building achieves absolutely _nothing_.”

“This is our nature, Dante. You cannot stop the inevitable. You cannot deny this anymore.”

The words are spoken with dark finality and Dante doesn’t like how it makes him feel. Uneasy. “What am I denying?”

His brother appears beside him, his power cool in the air as it flexes against Dante’s. “_This_.”

It isn’t a kiss. When Vergil presses his face to Dante’s, his lips are pulled back from his teeth, sharp and elongated. Demonic power energizes his body like an electric wire and Dante feels his lips drawn back on instinct, baring his teeth reactively to the challenge.

Their elongated canines clash together gently and they _sing _on contact.

All at once, the urge to destroy, claim, and bleed overtakes Dante, nearly darkening his vision with the force of it all. Hell flashes in his brother’s gaze and Dante knows he feels the same, the instinctual reaction to pressing their fangs together in challenge.

With all the willpower he possesses, Dante pulls back, shuddering. It feels like a million claws are under his skin, clawing to rip his human flesh off, to expose the power beneath.

“Get out.” It’s like fire coiling up just under the surface of Dante’s skin, a wrathful flame waiting to consume him.

It burns, it aches, his demon howling to be set loose.

Dante can feel Vergil’s domineering aura pressing against him as he stands just beside Dante, hovering threateningly. “I don’t think you really want me to,” Vergil rasps, voice lowering drastically.

Danger is boiling in the room, their aura’s flashing aggressively. There is violence here, waiting in the wings. “Don’t push me, brother,” Dante warns, feeling claws itching to pop out from his human fingertips.

Vergil comes closer, pupils completely dilated, the yawning darkness of them consuming his irises. “You need to be pushed.”

Dante almost can’t control the way his bestial nature begins to claw its way to the surface of his being, his eyes flashing red. “You can’t blame me for what happens next then.”

That snarling grin shapes Vergil’s face, his demon suddenly flashing blue flame in his eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

They say there is always a brief silence before a storm. What they say is true. When the brothers clash, it’s like a hurricane of madness.

Their auras fight for dominance as their demons begin to push forward, wrestling for control.

Teeth, claws, flesh and blood as they crash through the room, growling and snarling. Their clothes tear, ripped to shreds, demonic power coursing through the space. Vergil gains the upper hand, pinning Dante down onto his back, fangs bared, eyes flashing. “Give up, little brother. Admit I’m your better.”

“Like hell I will,” Dante snaps back, pressing against the iron grip holding him down.

Vergil’s eyes glitter as the stare down into Dante’s, something flickering in those depths. Unmeasurable. Dante can read the anger there, the typical arrogance. The blatant need that he feels pooling in his own belly.

With a calculated look, Vergil presses his hips down against Dante’s, allowing Dante to feel the rigidness there, the proof of his want. Air hisses through Dante’s teeth at the touch, tries to keep his mind empty of the rush of lust that pours into him uncontrollably.

“You can’t lie to me, Dante,” Vergil whispers huskily, eyes knowing. “You never could.”

Forcing a shit-eating grin onto his lips, Dante replies, “I’m not much of a liar anyway. That’s more your style.”

Something ugly crosses Vergil’s face, a hint of the past, long since dead. There for a moment, then gone again. “Well. Be that as it may; I never claimed to be a saint.”

Without preamble or any further say so, Vergil snarls and roughly pulls open Dante’s pants, yanking them down. Hissing, Dante struggles against him briefly, but only because he feels like that’s the human thing to do. His demon cares not a whit, waits with a hungry air for what comes next.

Vergil's hand roughly palms Dante’s rear before fingers slide between his cheeks, stroking up and down. Feeling, teasing. Dante’s cock is already full of blood, throbbing. Fuck, he’s weak for this and he shouldn’t be. Inside his head, he can nearly visualize his demon salivating with need. The touch on Dante's flesh is adoring and aggressive, a strange mix of heat on his skin. He's already hard and he shouldn't be, he fucking shouldn't be because he never wanted it to come to this...but he's too weak about what he wants.

His brother may be a constant thorn in his side, but Dante wants him there. Just feeling his touch is enough to make Dante's blood sing.

Those seeking fingers press against his entrance with sudden care and Vergil's eyes meet Dante's for a brief moment. Something passes between them; acknowledgement. Need. "...Dante..." Vergil rasps, his fingers beginning to press forward. 

Dante shifts his hips and he gives his brother a dark look, daring. "Scared?"

At the taunt, Vergil growls, a rumble that Dante can feel reverberate in his own body. "Have it your way," Vergil hisses in response. Vergil’s fingers delve quickly into Dante’s entrance, scissoring, flexing. Blood isn’t a good lubricant, but pain has never deterred either man. They’re made for it, after all. Made of stronger stuff. Vergil caresses, feels the inside of Dante’s sensitive walls, searching. Vergil's eyes hungrily scour his brother's face, taking in every emotion, every shift in those familiar features.

Those seeking fingers brush over something that sends stars into Dante’s vision. He throws his head back with a cry, not even noticing the back of his head connecting with the ground below him with a thud. Vergil smirks darkly, watching Dante writhe under his repeated stimulation of the spot.

Precum dribbles from Dante’s tip like a river, soaking his rigid, aching flesh.

Vergil hums with a pleased air. He pulls his hand back, fingers slipping from Dante’s heated body. When those fingers retreat, something wet, hot and blunt presses against Dante’s swollen entrance. Somehow, Dante wants to deny what is happening, but he cannot; there is only his brother, no one else. No one else can ever compare.

Inch by inch, Vergil slides into Dante’s body, eyes fluttering at the sensation, an animalistic groan escaping through his clenched teeth. Those sharp, white teeth. Inexplicably, Dante wants to run his tongue over those incisors. The stretch inside of him burns, but the pain is good, he craves it. His brother's cock is identical to his own and it gives him some form of obscene pleasure, some form of sick irony, feeling that girth spread him open. Dante's legs are spread wide, accommodating as his vicious brother crowds into him.

When Vergil has finally sunk in to the hilt, he begins to thrust, plunging hard into Dante's depths, a display of power overtaking the room. Dante moans, feels every slide of that delicious cock inside of him, allows his brother's power to flow through the room for a moment before flooding it with his own. This isn't fucking for the sake of fucking; it's about power and dominance and he will not just lay back and let his brother win.

It isn’t soft, nor is it gentle. They are both overcome by the monsters within, striving towards a dark end. Vergil sets a punishing pace, sliding in and out of Dante with purpose, aggression. In retaliation, Dante digs his fingers into Vergil’s flesh, burying his claws deep as they poke through his fingertips.

His brother snarls at the dual sensation of pain and pleasure, snapping his hips into Dante’s roughly. The wet sounds of their flesh meeting are loud, sloppy. Obscene.

Their auras struggle for dominance, Vergil’s cool and arrogant while Dante’s flares red and passionate, heated with wrath. Vergil’s demon is greedy, wanting more, always more. Unsatisfied, needing complete power and control, needing proof of it.

Teeth sink into Dante’s neck and he groans, holding Vergil to him, feeling the desperate way that his brother grinds his hips down into his. The pain and the pleasure mix together, teeth digging into his flesh hard, blood dripping down his neck. Hot, thick.

Vergil dips his tongue into the wound, purring deep in his chest, a rumble that Dante can feel. He runs his tongue up to Dante’s mouth, filthy. Leaving a crimson trail on Dante’s pale skin. “You always taste like sin,” Vergil murmurs. “Like mine.”

Though the words send a flash of heat into Dante’s core, he’s decided something. This power struggle has gone on long enough.

Dante huffs out a breath of air before he lets his demon take over. Within a flash of time, he has Vergil pinned on his back, staring up at Dante’s now red eyes. “Dante,” he whispers in shock.

Dante’s demon roars at him, forcing his power down onto Vergil, holding him in place, scalding him.

“I may be yours, but you need to remember one thing, _brother_,” Dante snarls, his voice colored by hell.

“And what is that?” Vergil grits up as he faces his brother’s power. His white teeth are stained red with Dante’s blood.

The ground begins to crumble and crack around them, Dante’s strength almost suffocating in its wrath and fury. “You’ve been flexing your strength at will in my home. Unchecked, because you’ve been trying to goad me into this moment. Well, here I am, brother.” Dante’s hands turn sharp, into claws, digging into Vergil’s skin with warning. “My human body may be yours, but you and our family belong under _my dominion_. You’re in my territory because _I want you here_, and you can put your scent on my things because I _allow it_. Do not mistake _my humanity_ for weakness,” Dante growls, voice more beast than man.

Then, he leans down at bites into his brother’s flesh, just above his heart.

Vergil arches his back, moaning, writhing as Dante marks him violently. His cock swells inside of Dante, throbbing. Dante can feel his heartbeat there, feels his brother hot and heavy inside of him. Doesn’t want to dwell on how wrong it is, because his demon loves it, loves claiming Vergil this way.

Because that’s what this is; he’s claimed Vergil, not the other way around.

Desperation and need fills Vergil’s usually disinterested voice as he says, “Dante, I’m going to…I need to fill you…”

Voice wild, monstrous, Dante unlocks his jaw from his brother’s chest to snarl, “Then do it. Give me what I want. Give me what is _mine_.”

Dante shifts his hips, rides his brother viciously. He slams down onto the hips below him, as if he's going to break through the floor by fucking himself on his brother's cock. 

Vergil’s head falls back, exposing the long beautiful line of his neck as he cries out, grasps at Dante’s hips roughly, bruising. Dante groans as he feels his brother’s cock twitch madly inside of him, spurting forth his release, his pleasure deep inside of Dante.

Those hips press up into Dante, like Vergil is trying to crawl into his body, thick and wanting. Dante watches with heated eyes, waiting for his brother to come back down from his high. “You’re still hard,” Dante purrs, his demon clawing to get out of his skin.

“It appears so,” Vergil rasps, trying to catch his breath. Then he notes with displeasure, “And you are still unsatisfied.”

Shifting off of Vergil, Dante goes on his hands and knees. “So, do something about that.”

Vergil’s pupils dilate madly, the cruel blue of his demon flashing in his gaze. “Insatiable whore,” he breathes, eyeing Dante’s sloppy entrance. “You want me to mount you?”

Heat curls in Dante’s belly, his cock dribbling desire like a faucet. He hides his momentary embarrassment at his brother’s words. “Isn’t this what you’ve wanted all this time?”

It seems, Vergil does not need much convincing, for he covers Dante’s body quickly, rubbing his wet cock up into the crease of Dante’s rear. “Dreamed of it,” Vergil hisses.

Without preamble, he buries himself inside Dante once again, running his tongue up his back, biting into his flesh here and there.

It’s fast, rough. Animalistic and raw, time bleeding into nothing as Vergil drives into Dante repeatedly, like he’ll die if he doesn’t continue on. His hands grip Dante’s hips as he humps into him like an animal. Their bestial natures blend together, become one, their power flowing through the other at will.

Despite how base it is, it’s the most intimate experience they could possibly share; allowing their power to bleed through the other. Like touching their souls together, blending them. In this moment, Dante feels complete in a way he never expected, blazing fire and need coursing through his veins.

They race towards completion, the sensation of fullness spurring Dante’s lust and adoration of his counterpart. Vergil’s clawed hands dig into his flesh, marking and claiming, but with a certain reverence that cannot be denied.

White dashes across Dante’s vision in a wave as he feels his gut tighten with a powerful heave, emotion clawing through his chest. His body tightens on reflex, causing Vergil to groan deliciously, hips grinding into Dante hard from behind.

Like he’s trying to climb inside of Dante, like he never intends to leave.

Pleasure washes through Dante and he arches his back, moaning low, body clutching the fullness inside of him. They cry out together, spurting their cum, their seed in tandem.

When morning breaks, Dante rolls over in the soiled sheets, covered in their shared pleasure, small specks of their blood as well. They had moved there from the floor at some point in the night, it seemed. His brother’s scent is heavy in the room, though not overbearing. Just present, marking Dante as his lover.

The fury of their bestial natures has waned, leaving a certain calm after the storm. Dante no longer feels the consistent pull in his chest, demanding blood, demanding he step forward and take ownership of his domain.

The bed is empty aside from Dante and he sits up, spotting his brother beginning to dress, pulling his pants on, shirtless.

“Well,” Vergil says loftily, looking cool as a dream as he catches Dante watching him. “That was enlightening.”

It takes all of Dante’s willpower to not snort. Dante’s mark is a red wound on Vergil’s chest and Dante feels calmed upon seeing it. “I’m glad you think so,” Dante murmurs, admiring his brother’s form.

Something fond appears in Vergil’s typically cold gaze. He steps forward and grips Dante’s chin, eyes falling to Dante’s lips, though he does not kiss them. “I’m glad you finally shared this with me, Dante.”

“Uh huh.”

“We’re unstoppable together. The most powerful demons the Underworld has ever seen.”

“Okay, let me stop you right there. We are not taking over. I’m not leaving DMC to go play King of the Underworld with you.”

Vergil smiles slowly, that cruel twist of his lips. “I’m aware. We can play that game right here.”

“You never change,” Dante says with exasperation, flopping on the bed.

“I never will,” Vergil says as he walks to the door, pausing to say, “But you like that, little brother.”

When he’s properly out of hearing range, gone from the room, Dante mutters to himself, “Smug fucking bastard. We’re the same age.”

But, as it turns out, Vergil is his smug bastard and always will be.

After four horrible days pass, they drive back to _Devil May Cry_. Nero couldn’t be more thrilled, even if you paid him.

When they pull up to Devil May Cry, Trish shrugs her shoulders. The building is silent, the lights all on. Nothing amiss visually. “Well, looks like everything is still standing in one piece.”

Lady stares at the building, then shifts her gaze to Trish. “Do you sense anything?”

Trish’s lips twist. She inhales deeply, nose flaring. “Yeah. I think they’ve worked things out. But…the aura is confusing. I’m not sure what it means.”

Not minutes later, Dante bangs on the side of the van, scowling. “You bitches. How many days does it take to clear a demon nest? Clearly, the kid didn’t do his job right.”

“Excuse me? What the hell, old man,” Nero growls, teeth bared, cheekbones flushed.

Despite the insult, Nero’s chest swells at the sight of his uncle. He’s missed him, especially after being surrounded with…all the devious, lying harpies currently in the van.

“Oh, stuff it short stuff. I brought beer,” Dante laughs, holding up a case as he pushes his way into the van.

“That’s my man!” Nico says with a wide grin as Dante steps in with the beer. She blushes most obviously when he tosses her a bottle and Nero rolls his eyes.

She has this ridiculous crush on his Uncle and it’s quite obscene.

Dante pauses by Lady and brushes her forehead with a kiss. Her eyes flutter closed briefly and she scratches his scruffy chin with blatant fondness. He then goes to the couch and sits down on one end, snapping open a bottle of beer, taking a deep gulp. “So,” he starts, “Are you going to tell me all about it? I’m dying to hear the details. Especially the ones about Nero getting his butt whooped.”

Nero scowls and leans against the jukebox. “I didn’t get whooped! Why do you always assume I suck at my job?!”

“Because, you’re special kid. In the way that counts,” Dante says with a sly wink.

“Oh, shut up,” Nero mutters, rubbing the nape of his neck.

Distantly, he feels guilty lying to Dante about the trip. He wants to tell him that no hunt even happened, that there are no stories to even tell. At least, not hunting stories. There are _other_ stories that Nero would rather not relive.

However, no stories have to be made up, because the air changes, becomes thick. Nero can almost taste sulfur on the air, on the back of his tongue. His eyes flicker to the van door, knowing what comes next.

Silently, Vergil steps into the van. His nose flares briefly with disgust as his eyes quickly flicker over the interior. Without acknowledging anyone, he makes a slow, unhurried beeline to the couch that Dante is sitting on. He sinks gracefully down onto the other end, still allowing for space between himself and his brother. With sharp eyes, he finally pins everyone with a biting look that makes the air freeze in Nero’s chest. His sandpaper voice scratches at the ears. “Successful hunt?”

Lady shrugs, unafraid. Dislike is in her eyes. “Yeah.”

Vergil leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. His demon flashes across his pupils briefly. “Interesting. It doesn’t smell like demon sludge in here.”

Raising her eyebrows in challenge, Lady replies archly, “We are very efficient at what we do.”

A cold smirk shapes Vergil’s lips. “Hn.”

Nero’s jaw tightens. His father clearly knows that no hunt ever occurred.

Archly, Lady pins Vergil with a look. “I know it was hard for Dante to be left behind. Did you two have quality brotherly bonding time?”

Vergil leans back, spreading his arms across the back of the couch. One booted ankle rests on his other knee, a book perched in his lap. The perfect picture of nonchalance. “Oh,” he says lowly, his voice grating. “It was quite quality. Wouldn’t you agree, brother?”

A hint of red dusts Date’s cheekbones and he chokes on his beer momentarily. “Whatever you say, Vergil.”

Nero stares. He stares some more. He can feel Lady’s eyes on him, the amusement in her gaze. He can’t breathe for a moment, feels like he’s having an aneurysm. He allows his demon senses to surface, can almost smell the way that Dante and Vergil appear to be one.

Vergil is looking at him now, with a look that holds no apology or shame. Vergil’s demon flashes through his eyes, staring Nero down until Nero feels the distinct urge to look away, his darker self understanding that a more dominant male is telling him to acknowledge who is in charge.

Looking away, Nero gazes at his uncle, who is studiously sipping his third beer already. From this angle, Nero can see the red bite peeking out from under Dante’s coat collar.

“I’m so glad to hear that all is well,” Trish says. “I was worried that you two would smash the place to bits in our absence.”

Dante snorts. “I mean, some things might need repair…but nothing important, anyway.”

Lady stands with her arms akimbo, unimpressed. “Who the hell is paying for that, then?”

Nero stares at them all. This can’t be reality.

“Oh my God. Are you serious?!” his voice fairly cracks, but he has no time to be ashamed. “All of you belong in hell!”

In a rush, he stands up and stomps out of the van, only pausing to point imperiously at Nico and her cigarette. “And stop fucking smoking, the stench _and_ you are killing me!”

Nico rolls her eyes and blows more smoke after him. She asks the other occupants of the van, “Is he on the rag, do you think? Is it his time of the month?”

They all hear him yell incoherently somewhere outside of the van.

Vergil lounges back with all the grace of a panther, opening his book. He lets the open book rest over his eyes and nose as a cold smirk shapes his lips, the only thing not covered by the tome in his hand. Completely relaxed, calm. Perhaps pretending to nap under the pages.

“There’s only one thing I have to know,” Nico says, breaking the silence.

“I doubt that,” Vergil utters coldly from under his book, razors in his tone.

“So,” Nico asks, an intense expression on her face as her eyes shift between both brothers. “Did you do it? The dirty deed? The horizontal tango? Bump the uglies?”

Dante blinks and turns his head to face away from the group, taking a long pull from his beer bottle once more.

Vergil inconspicuously moves his book an inch so that it completely covers his face and whatever expression shapes his visage.

Trish and Lady bump fists, rolling their eyes with sarcastic amusement.

Nico opens both of her palms with incredulity and shakes them with pent-up energy. “Is that a yes or a no? I can’t really tell, guys.”

A sound that could possibly be a ‘tsk’ comes from behind Vergil’s book.

Dante finishes his last beer and spreads his legs wide, one of his feet resting beside Vergil’s. He shrugs innocently and winks at Lady, making a kissing motion with his lips.

“I saw that,” Vergil mutters darkly from behind the lightweight book.

Lady shakes her head and lifts the book off of Vergil’s face. “Jealous bastard,” she teases.

Later that night, Lady stands beside Trish and stares up at the _Devil May Cry_ building. “So,” she asks quietly. “Who owns our building and all the inhabitants?”

Trish bites her red lip, effortlessly seductive. “Dante, of course.”

Smiling, Lady blows some hair out of her face. “Of course.”

Through one of the open windows of the building, Nero’s voice wafts into the night air, soft and lilting. “Please don’t ask, Kyrie. It was awful. I don’t want to burn your ears.” A pause. “I’ll see you in the morning. Love you.”

All is as it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** Thank you all for your lovely comments and kudos!!! I hope you enjoyed this short little fic :D


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